


sharp-toothed and mild as a doe

by deathsweetqueen



Series: Tony Stark Bingo 2018 [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mr. & Mrs. Smith Fusion, Angry Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Double Life, Emotional Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Tony Stark, Identity Issues, Identity Porn, Identity Reveal, Jealous Natasha Romanov, Jealous Tony Stark, Married Couple, Misunderstandings, Mr. and Mrs. Smith AU, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Has Issues, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, POV Natasha Romanov, POV Tony Stark, Protective Natasha Romanov, Russian Immigrant Natasha, Russian Natasha Romanov, Secret Identity, Tony Stark Bingo 2018, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Vaginal Sex, no one knows tony is iron man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-03 01:30:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16316534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathsweetqueen/pseuds/deathsweetqueen
Summary: “Honey, I’m home,” Tony jokes, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen.Natalia peeks her head above the counter. Her brow furrows, crossly. “And what took you so long?” she demands.Tony laughs and wanders over to the other side of the kitchen, where Natalia is leaning over the counter, balancing precariously on the strength of her two hands, while her legs kick in the air aimlessly.“You didn’t hear me come in?” he points out.“This house is too big,” she complains, but takes the warm kiss to her cheek happily. “It takes you ten minutes to come from the entrance to the kitchen, and I never know when you are home. It is no way to live.”Or alternatively, the one where Tony and Natasha are equally terrible at doing background checks on the people they married.





	sharp-toothed and mild as a doe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rebelmeg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelmeg/gifts).



> Written for one of the picture squares (S5) for the Tony Stark Bingo 2018.
> 
> Written for my darling [rebelmeg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelmeg), who had her birthday last month and I wanted to do something special for her.
> 
> So, yeah, this is a Mr and Mrs Smith ironwidow AU, and honestly, after an intense session of fangirling of a gifset the WI babes and I found on Tumblr starring Riz Ahmed as Tony and Freida Pinto as Natasha, I low-key started imagining the two when I wrote this, so feel free to do that too.
> 
> The title for this fic comes from a poem by nehmesis on Tumblr. 
> 
> BTW, there might be a little confusion with the names. Tony refers to Natasha as Natalia, and wherever you see Natasha, it isn't a typo and just signifies where it shifts into Natasha's POV, but that's just two scenes.

“Honey, I’m home,” Tony jokes, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen.

Natalia peeks her head above the counter. Her brow furrows, crossly. “And _what_ took you so long?” she demands.

Tony laughs and wanders over to the other side of the kitchen, where Natalia is leaning over the counter, balancing precariously on the strength of her two hands, while her legs kick in the air aimlessly.

“You didn’t hear me come in?” he points out.

“This house is too big,” she complains, but takes the warm kiss to her cheek happily. “It takes you ten minutes to come from the entrance to the kitchen, and I never know when you are home. It is no way to live.”

Tony grins. “You want to move?”

Natalia shakes her head, immediately. “Do not be so hasty,” she admonishes. “I never said that. I would just like to know when you come home, is that too much to ask?”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Should I be concerned why you want to know when I come home?”

Natalia scowls and crosses her arms over her chest, which, much to Tony’s eternal misery, only highlights how lovely her breasts look in that sheer little negligee his wife happened to be wearing that night.

“I will not even grace that with an answer,” she sniffs, haughtily.

Tony kisses the pout right off her face, and when he pulls back, she’s all soft, her moss-green eyes almost liquid. 

“You know, we have JARVIS,” he reminds her, quietly. “He can tell you when I get home.”

She swats him, unrepentantly, on the arm. “You already put JARVIS to too much work,” she scolds. “He cannot be announcing your arrival as well.”

Tony sighs, leaning back. “You are impossible to please.”

Without much ceremony, he wraps his arms around her waist and lifts her onto the counter, amidst a very adorable little squeal that he’d never call her out on, because she’d just spend the rest of their lives trying to pull a similar noise from him with a number of terrible schemes he knows she is fully capable of coming up with.

“Then you must move the sun and the earth to please me,” Natalia says, satisfied.

“Yeah, okay, babe,” Tony snorts. “I’ll get right on that after I make the next couple hundred billion and finish revolutionising the world as we know it.”

“Oh, so, the world is more important than I am?” she demands.

“Natalia,” he whines.

She huffs, finally, and pats his cheeks with her hands, her slim thumbs running across the dip of his cheekbones. His eyes close as her fingers, deft as they are, slide into his hair, and she starts moving the pads of her fingers in small circles, until he’s melting against her, resting his forehead against her long, swan-like neck.

“Did you have any classes today?” he asks, his voice a little slurred from the scalp massage.

Natalia hums. “I did. A few beginner ones, and there was one Grade 4 class as well.”

“How were they?” he asks, curiously.

“They are all so terrible,” she says, blithely. “So very terrible. I did not think they were capable of being so terrible, but I was swiftly corrected. It is not like in Russia; we would never have been allowed to be so terrible in Russia.”  

Tony chuckles into her shoulder. “Come on, they’re just kids. How bad could they be?”

“You would be surprised,” she finishes, dramatically.

* * *

That night, after a dinner of eggplant parmigiana (that Tony made, not her, because while she can make a mean _borscht_ or _solyanka_ or _stroganoff_ , she’s not good at much else in the kitchen), Tony carries her up to the bedroom that they share.

She’s small-made, having a ballet dancer’s body, even if her thighs kill just as well as they hold her pliés, so it’s easy enough, even with Tony’s sporadic heart problems and the arc reactor in his chest, for him to lift her up, so that she can wrap her arms and legs around him.

Had any other man tried this with her, the Black Widow’s knife would have been in their throat before they could even blink, but Anthony Edward Stark only knows Natalia Alianovna Romanova, once a famous Bolshoi ballet dancer, now his wife, a Russian immigrant teaching ballet to young, rich girls in Malibu, and he has never wanted anything from her that she isn’t already willing to give him; as much as it hurts to admit, she doubts he would feel the same way about Natasha Romanoff, the infamous Black Widow, SHIELD agent and assassin.

He has her on the bed, splayed out, while he crouches over her, his shirt unbuttoned and showing slivers of tanned, sinewy skin but for the array of red, shiny scars that spiral out of the arc reactor in his chest, which gleams brightly, a veritable nightlight in the darkness of the room.

He’s mouthing at her neck, while her fingers brush through his thick, dark hair and his hand is slowly running up the inside of her warm, milk-smooth thigh. She’s already wet, surprisingly; she’s been wet for him since he put his hands on her in the kitchen, holding her like she was precious – he’s the only one to ever treat her so; all the others, there was always lust or a ruse at stake and they only ever took and took and took from her, as if she was nothing more than a red-haired doll for them to play with and break down and remake as they willed (she supposed, as the Black Widow, Mother Russia’s infamous _chernaya vdova_ , she was theirs to play with).

But Tony isn’t one of the monsters, or the dull, empty bodies she hides in her closet.

He is good and kind to her; he would put himself between her and anything that came for her.

He loves her. 

“You okay, Tasha?”

Natasha looks up, blinking, ashamed to have been caught so unaware, even by someone who means her no harm.

She remembers a day, a month or two after colliding with Tony Stark, billionaire, industrialist, genius, philanthropist, trauma survivor, on a street corner in Manhattan, and introducing herself with a warm, surprisingly genuine smile as Natalia Romanova, ballet dancer, when they sat together in a small coffee shop in a New York borough that the paparazzi would never search. She remembers telling him that the diminutive of Natalia in her mother tongue is Natasha, which he immediately latched onto and if he isn’t using _Natalia_ or _honey_ or on occasion, _patatina_ (because he loves the little scowl she makes in response), he calls her _Tasha_ , instead.

She would die before admitting it to anyone (including Tony), but when he calls her _Tasha_ , it leaves her with a warm sort of tingle in her stomach and a smile that should be foreign and fake to her, but somehow isn’t.

Tony reaches down and brushes strands of her dark auburn hair away from her face.

“You with me, Tasha?” he asks, a little concerned.

Natasha smiles, broadly, cupping his jaw with a slim, well-manicured hand. “I am,” she replies with a smile. “Now, I’m getting cold, Antoshka.”

Tony laughs. “Fine, Miss Bossypants.”

Before she even knows what he’s doing, he has his fingers stroking up inside her, rubbing up against her insides in a way that makes her toes curl. Again, she marvels at the slack she allows this man, her husband, when if anyone else tried (and they had, those who thought they could get a quick, unimpressive orgasm out of Tatiana or Nadine or Marya or Irina and then have their selfishness and use of her be absolved), she would have had her hands wrapped around their throat, as their eyes fill with blood.

“ _Antoshka_ ,” she moans, which makes him smile, crooking his fingers in a way that makes her choke some unintelligible noise and reach for him, pulling him close.

Somehow, she likes his weight on her.

Even if he’s an engineer by trade, a mechanic, a modern-day blacksmith, and she could snap his neck if she wanted to, and if it came down to it, it would be on her head to protect both of them from an assailant (she has nightmares of the day that someone learns of the Black Widow’s weakness and comes for Tony), if she shuts her eyes and loses herself to the way that his hands and his mouth and his words and his cock wring pleasure out of her, she can almost imagine a life where she was some poor, doe-eyed young woman living with her equally poor husband in some decrepit little apartment in Moscow, with only each other to keep themselves warm.

But she won’t trade Tony for anything else, or for any other life, not even his safety, as terrible as it makes her.

Tony is the sliver of fresh air and clarity in the mud they always want her to crawl through.

His thumb runs over her clit, which makes all of her inner muscles clench down on his fingers.

“Don’t tease,” she grits out.

“Why? I like teasing you,” Tony growls, petting her clit slowly, but deliberately, with the pad of his thumb.

Natasha grits her teeth. “ _Mudak_ ,” she groans when he adds another finger without stopping the incessant caress on her clit.

Tony laughs. When she leans up on her elbows, she can see one tanned, engineer’s hand between her legs, fingers inside her up to the knuckle, while the other hand is wrapped around his cock, giving himself a slow upward stroke every now and then to keep things interesting.

“Enough foreplay,” she says, gruffly, and uses just enough of her skills as the Black Widow to flip them over, so that she’s straddling him, her hair draping over her pearly skin, the colour of whipped milk and moonlight.

Tony stares at her breasts, full and lush, almost with awe, as he looks at her every moment of their lives, and reaches up with piano fingers to pluck at her nipples, tightening the nerves to a point. He reaches up and latches onto one with his teeth, tugging gently until it makes her mew, his hands spanning her back.

Natasha smiles, wickedly, and reaches between their bodies to fist Tony’s cock, long and pretty that it is, with a neat thatch of dark, wiry hair at the base, where it curves against his lean belly, leaving shiny streaks of pre-come against the skin of his stomach.

“Jesus,” he grunts out, jerking into her grasp, as she corkscrews her hand on her way up the length of his cock. “I thought you said no more teasing,” he rasps, dark pinpricks where his whiskey-brown eyes used to be.

Natasha shrugs. “You want this to finish quickly?” she taunts.

“I want inside you,” he growls, cupping her ass with broad palms and pulling her close so that his cock is flush with the soft, warm dip in her skin where her thigh meets her pelvic bone.

Natasha throws her arms out, knowing that he won’t let her topple over. “Well, then,” she says, provocatively, looking at him through her eyelashes.

She takes his cock in one hand, balancing herself in the air for a brief moment, until she can sink down, right to the base. Her insides clutch at him, while her hands grip at his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin slightly. His hands smooth along her sides, and there’s plenty of strength in him to lift her onto his cock, as she starts riding him slowly, short little lurches that steal the air from her.

His hand finds its way between their bodies, and when he starts rubbing slow, small circles on her clit, it doesn’t take much longer for the orgasm to hit her brutally, racking through her body like a lethal convulsion that she couldn’t stop even if she wanted to. Her teeth are on edge, and her toes curled, and her nails scratching into his shoulders and her thighs taut, but it pulls her in nonetheless, the ground wrenched out from underneath her until she’s free-falling and there’s no end to liberate her.

Finally, she collapses backwards, splaying herself out over the bed, while her hips are still balanced in Tony’s lap, with his hands gripping her waist, tight enough that there will be marks on her skin the next morning. She’s loose-boned, lazy, as she pulls her hair away from her face and neck, her skin too hot and sweat-damp, and she’s still trembling so fiercely from her orgasm, her cunt clenching desperately, that it doesn’t take Tony more than two or so pumps before he’s groaning and coming inside her. A few more shallow, aimless thrusts inside her, and he pulls out, gathering her up in his arms, so that he can lay her out properly on the bed, beside him.

Thankfully, the sheets are cool and clean and dry beneath her skin, and she rolls into it as Tony stretches himself out next to her, throwing an arm around her stomach. She leans into the hold, her nose jutting into his collarbone, while he pulls her close, but not close enough that she’ll kick him away and whine that _you are too hot, Antoshka, I cannot take it_.

When his fingers start a mellow rhythm through her hair, she finds her eyes falling shut of their own accord.

She will rest well before her mission tomorrow.

* * *

The next morning, when Tony comes down the stairs, Natalia is already in the kitchen, pouring out two enormous mugs full of hot black coffee.

Tony moans when she holds out his mug to him, a funny mug that Natalia had picked up in a one-dollar store, that has _Dear Husband, I love you with all my boobs (I would say heart, but my boobs are bigger), Love, Your Wife_ written on it in thin, manuscript letters.

“You are the greatest wife ever,” he hums as the bitter, thin liquid leaves a burning line down his throat when he sips.

“I am,” Natalia doesn’t hesitate to agree, a pleased curve to her mouth as she too drinks her coffee. “Do you have a busy day today?” she asks, curiously.

Tony doesn’t think it would be appropriate to tell his ballet teacher wife that today’s plans involve him flying to Kazakhstan in the Iron Man suit that he keeps stashed in his office, in order to destroy some of Stark Industries’ old weapons that a terrorist group in that area seem to have in their possession.

“Oh, just a bunch of meetings. We have that new StarkPhone coming out next month, so there’s some final numbers the board wants to go through,” he explains, smoothly.

Natalia pouts. “Does that mean you will be home late?”

“I’m afraid so, babe,” he says, regretfully.

Natalia sighs. “Oh, well, then. I suppose it is good, after all. I too have a late class tonight, and I was worrying that you would return to an empty house.”

“No rest for the wicked, huh,” he muses. “I should probably get going, or Pepper will start shouting at me.”

“Keep in contact,” Natalia orders, tilting her head to accept the kiss on her cheek.

“Will do,” Tony answers. “See you later, honey.”

* * *

Within hours, he’s landing in the terrorist group’s base, deserted and decrepit-looking, and walking through its halls, hoping that while the terrorists may have been in a hurry, they may have left his weapons behind.

But he knows that’s a long shot.

“J, you got anything for me?” he asks, hopefully.

“I am detecting a single heat signature in the vicinity, sir,” JARVIS answers, promptly. “But for that, I believe the base is clear.”

Tony frowns. “Why would they leave behind _one_ person?” he wonders, confused.

“Perhaps in an attempt to distract you?” JARVIS offers.

Tony scrunches up his face. “That seems like a short-sighted idea,” he mutters. “But I guess we’ll find out, won’t we? Where is this single heat signature located?”

“You should take a right at the next corridor, and then there will be a staircase on your left,” JARVIS instructs, which Tony follows immediately. “Once you reach the top of the staircase, the heat signature is coming from the second room on the right. I believe it is their version of a control room.”

“For a bunch of low-tier freedom fighters, they sure have a Brobdingnagian evil lair,” Tony comments, as he clunks up the staircase. “Second room on the right, did you say?” He pauses. “But won’t they know I’m coming? I mean, the Iron Man suit isn’t exactly made for stealth.” 

“You may have to make your best go of it, sir,” JARVIS suggests.

Tony sighs. “You always have the best ideas, J.”

“I am, after all, at your service.”

“You’re gonna make some girl real happy in the future.”

“Alas, I am married to my work, and thus, I am married to you,” JARVIS says, dryly.

Tony snorts. “Think Natalia might put up a fight; you may want to check with her, just in case. She’s the possessive type; you should see the claw marks on my back after last night,” he brags.

“As you say, sir, _too much information_ ,” JARVIS says, disgusted.

Tony laughs. “Anyway, should we do our level best to surprise our new friend?”

“I look forward to it, sir.”

The left-behind terrorist is a quick little thing, because when he storms into the control room, all he sees is a streak of red and hears the clang of a bullet colliding with his armour where his throat should’ve been, but thankfully isn’t.

Thankfully, it doesn’t do much.

The room is seemingly empty.

“Okay, come out, come out, wherever you are,” he sings.

No one replies.

Tony sighs. “Look, darling, I’d love to get down and dirty with you, but I’m married and my wife’s the jealous type.”

There’s a derisive snort that would’ve imploded his ego if he didn’t have Natalia waiting for him at home.

“You should be so lucky,” a woman replies, coldly.

Tony shrugs. “I am, but enough of my wedded bliss. Why don’t you show me your face, lead me to your gang’s weapon stash? I’ll get what I came here for, let you go, and we end this, easy peasy lemon squeezy, huh?”

“Tell me, Iron Man, what makes you think I’m part of the gang?” she says, her voice lilting upwards as if she were amused.

“Well, I don’t have any hard evidence, but I mean, you are kind of in their hideout. What else am I supposed to think?”

In retrospect, for such a massive revelation, it should’ve been more climactic than it was, but the woman crouching behind the cluttered work area merely slides out from the counter, revealing dark auburn curls and a shockingly familiar face.

For a brief moment, he wills his heart to start beating again.

His wife cocks her hip outwards. “What, stunned by my beauty?” she taunts.

Tony’s tongue is stuck to his throat, as a wound frays open in his chest, something akin to betrayal and hurt thick and wrapping around the mangled remains of his heart like thorny vines.

“JARVIS?” he manages to rasp.

JARVIS is uncharacteristically slow to respond.

Clearly, he didn’t know either.

“I believe Mrs Stark is wearing a SHIELD-issued uniform, sir. And from my search of SHIELD’s database, it would appear that her face matches the record of one, Natasha Romanoff, SHIELD agent, security clearance: Level 7, codename: Black Widow,” JARVIS replies, haltingly, perhaps unsure of how he’ll take this information.

Tony nods, the information going down his throat like sticky gelatin. He turns his attention to his wife, not willing to mull over on how true that statement is.

“So, what’s SHIELD doing in Kazakhstan?” he asks, hoping his voice manages to stay level.

Natalia shrugs. “Not much. Just looking for some intel. You, Iron Man?”

 _Why are you playing this game with me_ , he wants to scream at her. _You know who I am. You have to. Why are you still fucking with me?_

“Looking for some weapons,” he says instead.

Natalia smiles, just a little around the corner, looking at him through her eyelashes. “Sounds like fun times,” she drawls.

Then, the thought he didn’t even want to consider flares brightly and he can’t shake it away, no matter how much he wants to try.

What if she doesn’t know? What if he took off his helmet and showed her the face underneath and she was just as shocked as he was? What if this was all a game to her, a cover, a story that helped her do her job, whatever SHIELD’s dirty work may be?

 _Was any of it real_?

It’s a foolish move, when he doesn’t know the truth behind her smile, if she’s his enemy and not his greatest supporter, as he thought, but he needs to do this; he needs to know what’s in her eyes when she sees his face in the armour, even if she might just pull his world apart from around him.

Before JARVIS can even protest, he’s reaching up to the latches on the side of his neck, releasing them, and pulling the helmet off. 

In any other situation, the look of sheer surprise and horror that flits onto Natalia’s beautiful features would have made him double over with laughter, but today, he just feels hollow.

“Surprise, wife,” he says, dryly.

Something cracks open in Natalia; he can see it.

“I… don’t understand,” she says, lamely, her voice free of the accent which he had been so fond of.

_How many lies has she told me?_

“Hey, Nat, Coulson wants to know- _woah_.”

Tony lurches around to see a blonde-haired man standing in the doorway to the control room, dressed in a vest with a bow strapped to his back.

Tony immediately decides he doesn’t like this guy.

“Who the hell is this clown?” he demands, eyeing the man with ill-disguised suspicion.

“Uh, Nat, what’s going on here?” the man asks, awkwardly.

Natalia (or he supposes, Natasha; he’s trying to ignore that) sighs. “Clint, it’s… nothing.”

Tony bites back a full-body flinch at the words.

“Tell Coulson everything’s fine; I’ve got all the intel we wanted. I’ll join you soon.”

Clint nods, giving Tony one last look of confusion and doubt, before disappearing the way he came.

Tony rounds on Natalia. “Who the fuck is he?”

“His name is Clint,” she explains, lowly. “He’s my… we work in the field together.”

Tony grits his teeth and looks away. “How many fucking secrets, Natalia?”

“I could ask you the exact same question, Iron Man,” she snaps.

“I’m not doing this here,” Tony says, coldly. “Not when SHIELD’s probably recording everything I say, and I don’t know if you’re behind it or not. You can get out of here, right?”

Natalia hasn’t finished nodding before he’s bursting out of there like a locomotive, soaring up into the air.

* * *

Tony is sitting at the dining table, nursing a tumbler of scotch in one hand, when Natalia walks in through the kitchen door.

He raises his glass to her, mockingly. “I suppose it should be an honour to meet the great Black Widow, huh,” Tony says, sarcastically.

“Oh, cut the crap, Tony,” Natalia growls. “Stop playing the victim.”

She slams down the half-empty bottle of scotch onto the table and pours herself an equally generous glass.

Tony laughs, bitterly. “You don’t even have a fucking accent anymore. What part of you is even real?”

Natalia’s face doesn’t betray her hurt, but there’s a slight tremor to her hands when she lays them out on the table.

“I could ask you the same question,” she murmurs.

“No, no, you really can’t, because I’m still Tony Stark. Nothing I ever said to you was a lie. I’m still the CEO of Stark Industries. I’m still a billionaire. I’m still a genius engineer. I still have major fucking daddy issues. I’m still a pseudo-alcoholic with serious coping issues, and yeah, I was kidnapped during a weapons’ demonstration in Afghanistan, where I had the arc reactor put into my chest to stop shrapnel killing me. _Nothing_ that I’ve said to you is a lie. All I didn’t tell you was that I’ve been Iron Man for the last two years or so. But you… _everything_ you’ve said to be until now is a lie, isn’t it?”

“That’s not true,” Natalia protests.

“Okay, fine. Is your name really Natalia?” he asks, sharply.

“It was,” she says, quietly. “A very long time ago.”

“And now?”

“Now,” she exhales. “Now, I go by Natasha.”

“I’m guessing you’re not a ballet teacher then? You never danced for the Bolshoi Theatre?”

Natalia shakes her head, miserably. “I do… dance. I know ballet. It was part of my training… where I was raised, but no, I’m not a ballet dancer by trade.”

“You can probably guess how I feel, hearing this,” Tony says, bitterly.

Natalia takes a deep breath. “I can explain _everything_.”

“Are you sure about that? Because from where I’m sitting, there are two options,” he says, coldly. “Either you knew I was Iron Man and you ran into me on purpose that day, you dated me, you married me on purpose, because you were trying to get information or protection or _something_ , I don’t fucking know. Or, you didn’t know, and I was just a convenient cover, so you could go about working for SHIELD and no one would ever suspect Tony Stark’s wife. So, why don’t you tell me which one it is?”

_Because, either way, I lose._

Natalia’s hands curl around the edge of the table. “Neither,” she says, steadily. “Neither is true.”

Tony throws his hands up in the air. “How the fuck am I supposed to believe you?”

“How am _I_ supposed to believe you?” Natalia flings back. “You conveniently forget that you lied to me too. You’ve been Iron Man for more than two years, and I’m wagering that if today hadn’t happened, you would never have told me. So, you give me an explanation, Tony. I’d love to hear one.”

“Don’t pass the buck to me so you don’t have to answer for what you’ve done,” he hisses, leaning forward.

“I don’t _have_ to. You’re just as guilty as I am.”

“Was I just a cover?” he demands.

“Was _I_ just some trophy wife?” she retorts, just as strongly.

Tony deflates, sinking back into his chair. “You _know_ that’s not true,” he says, fiercely.

“How? How am I supposed to know that’s true?”

“The same way you expect me to believe that you weren’t just using me to get information on me, or to be your alibi for your shady SHIELD dealings,” Tony says, caustically.

“Again, the same could be say about you,” Natalia says, coldly.

“I don’t _even_ know what to call you anymore!” Tony shouts. “Are you Natalia, Natasha? Are both a lie?”

“Natalia is _still_ my name, you idiot,” she snaps. “I just don’t go by it anymore.”

“Why?”

Natalia purses her lips, unhappily. “You don’t want to know.”

“Oh, believe me, I think I do,” Tony laughs, coldly. “At least tell me the truth this time, _baby_.”

“My name _is_ Natalia Alianovna Romanova. I was born with that name.” Natalia looks down at the table. “I don’t… I don’t really remember my parents. I think-I _think_ they died? I’m not quite sure. The Red Room, where I was raised, they made me into this: an assassin. When I graduated,” her mouth twists, unpleasantly, and somehow he thinks he doesn’t want to know the reason behind it (but he thinks he needs to; he probably needs to). “They sold me to the KGB, and let’s just say, I gained a reputation for myself. So, SHIELD sent Clint – the man from the base – to kill me. Instead, he convinced me to change sides, and I defected, joining SHIELD.” She looks up at him with wide green eyes. “I swear to you, when I ran into you on that street, I didn’t know who you were beyond Tony Stark, genius billionaire. I introduced myself as Natalia, instead of Natasha, because for once, I wanted to _be_ Natalia. I haven’t been her in a very long time,” she confesses, miserably.

Tony wrings his hands together in an effort to silence the urge to reach for her hands. “That doesn’t make it okay, Natalia,” he says, quietly.

Natalia’s eyes snap to his. “You haven’t exactly explained your side of things, either,” she says, angrily. “Who the hell knows you’re Iron Man, anyway?”

Tony shrugs. “Just Rhodey and Pepper.”

“ _Pepper_ knew?” Natalia says, dangerously, her eyes narrowing. “You told _her_. Of _course_ , you told her. Why am I surprised?” she says, bitterly.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re not seriously jealous right now, are you?” Tony demands.

“Why not?” Natalia says, belligerently. “ _You_ were.”

“When?”

“In the base. With Clint.”

“Yeah, well, when some random douchebag gatecrashes an argument you’re having with your wife after some big-time revelation that feels like someone just pulled out my fucking insides and calls her _Nat_ , like he knows her so fucking well, then you get fucking jealous!”

“And I’m not allowed to be jealous of Pepper? You tell her _everything_ , but it completely escaped your mind to tell your damn wife that you fly around in a metal suit blowing up terrorist base!”

“I didn’t _tell_ her. She just found out. And that happened years ago, long before we even met.”

“It’s nice to hear that I rate so high on your priorities, Tony,” Natalia says, sarcastically. “It’s really heart-warming. I never knew you loved me so much.”

“Do _you_ love me?” Tony asks, quietly, ashamed that he even has to ask that question.

He _would_ have to ask the question, wouldn’t he?

Hell, he isn’t even surprised to be in this position.

A ballerina crashes into him out of nowhere one day; they have a whirlwind romance; they get married, and it turns out his wife is an ex-Russian assassin now working for the very organisation that’s been trying to get their hands on his suit for going on two years now.

God, if his father was still alive, the man would be laughing himself stupid at Tony.

Poor, stupid, desperate Tony, always looking for someone to love him.

Instead, he gets a neat little knife in his ribs for all of his trouble.

He shakes his head, and then looks up, his lungs constricting at what he finds.

He wouldn’t have thought the famed Black Widow was capable of being _helpless_ , but there it was, on her pretty ( _no_ , beautiful) face.

“You really need to ask me that question?” she whispers.

Tony shrugs, half-heartedly. “What else am I supposed to think?”

“You think this was some long con?” she demands, her voice thickening with hurt. “You think I set you up. I met you on purpose, so I could use you as a cover or an alibi, or steal your suit from you?”

Tony looks away. He has no interest in answering that question.

Natalia slowly climbs to her feet, with all the grace of a sleek panther.

“After all this time, after everything we’ve shared, you have the nerve to ask me that question, to doubt _me_ , like you’re completely innocent in all of this? No. No, I will not be your lamb, Tony. You don’t get to ignore everything that we’ve been to each other because you’re having a pity party. You don’t get to _doubt_ me,” she flings at him.

Tony’s eyes snap to hers. “And why the fuck _not_?” he demands, lurching to his feet with only half the grace she has. “Why _wouldn’t_ I doubt you?”

“You lied _too_ , Tony,” she insists, all over again.

“Again, anything I might not have told you hardly compares to the _wealth_ of information you’ve been keeping from me,” he says, snidely.

“You are… you are fucking _impossible_ , Stark,” she snarls.

“Oh, honey, did you forget? You’re a Stark now too,” he taunts.

“Much to my utter misery,” she mutters.

“There’s the door, babe,” he says, coldly, even as her words and his words have something seizing up in his chest. “No one’s keeping you here.”

Natalia narrows her eyes. “Is that really what you want? You want me to walk out that door?” she says, slyly, crossing her arms over her chest. “You really think you could handle that?”

“You think I need you _so_ badly?” he retorts.

Natalia rounds the table, her green eyes hot and wilful. “I think you love me,” she murmurs. She perches herself on his thigh, even if he recoils back in his chair. “And I love you too.”

It’s on the edge of his teeth to believe her; it’s so close, it would be as easy as taking that first bite into a crisp red apple, but there’s something aching in his ribs at the thought and it silences him.

Splotches of angry red blossom on Natalia’s face when she realises that her words have no effect. She throws herself onto her feet and rounds on him.

“I am _not_ taking all of the blame for this. I refuse,” she spits out. “You lied to me too. You didn’t tell me you were Iron Man. What if you _died_ , Tony? What would’ve happened then?”

“You would’ve been taken care of,” he returns, blankly. “You stand to inherit pretty much my entire fortune if I kick the bucket, Tasha. I wouldn’t worry if I were you.”

“You think _that’s_ what this is about?” she demands. “You think I’m concerned you didn’t put me in your fucking will? Fuck you, Tony, fuck you if that’s what you think about me.”

Tony smiles, sadly. “I don’t even know you, Tasha,” he points out. “You’ve just proven you’re a complete stranger to me.”

Natalia bares her teeth. “I am _not_ a fucking stranger. Don’t you dare, Tony, don’t you dare,” she chokes out.

“What else do you want me to say? You didn’t even answer my fucking questions. Do you fucking love me or don’t you? Why didn’t you tell me who you really were?”

“Why didn’t _you_ tell _me_?” she retorts.

“Because I thought you’d get hurt, okay!” he shouts, finally. “I was scared that if you knew, if people found out, you would get targeted, and yeah, stupid fucking me, because it would’ve felt like someone was ripping my heart out of my chest if you got hurt because of me. So, that’s why I didn’t tell you.” He looks at her steadily, still breathing heavily. “You prepared to answer mine now?”

Natalia licks her lips and looks away.

Tony shakes his head, miserable at how the satisfaction sinks into his bones.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he says, quietly.

His feet twist, as he prepares to leave the room, but Natalia catches his wrist as fast as lightning.

“No, wait, Tony, please don’t go,” she pleads.

Tony stares at her. “Are you prepared to answer my questions?”

“Of course, I love you, Tony,” she sighs, hanging her head. “I love you so much it hurts to breathe. _I love you, Tony_.”

Something wilts pleasantly inside him.

No, he can’t think on it now.

“And the other question?” he pushes.

Natalia falls silent, biting her plump lower lip.

Tony shakes his head. “Answer the question, Natalia,” he says, coldly.

“I can’t,” Natalia grits out.

“Why the fuck not?” he demands.

“I _can’t_.”

“Answer the damn question!” he shouts.

“I was scared!” she screams. “Okay. I was fucking scared. Is that what you wanted to hear?” she laughs something venomous. “The great Black Widow was fucking scared that you’d look at her and see something evil and broken and you’d walk away from me because that’s what I am, and I liked the way you looked at me, like I was the sun and the moon and the stars. I didn’t want to change that. And I knew if you found out about me, who I really was, it would change how you looked at me. I wanted to keep _this_ , _us_ , for myself.” Her fists clench. “I’m sorry, Tony,” she says, helplessly. “I should’ve told you, _I know_ , but I was scared.”

“You really think I’m that much of a monster?” Tony says, roughly. “You think I could listen to all the awful things those fuckers did to you and then _hate_ you for it? You really think that less of me, huh.”

“No!”

“That’s what I’m hearing.”

“God, Tony, not everything is about you!”

“Oh, yeah, I know. Because right now, I think it’s about you.”

“You are such a fucking child.”

“You married me, sweetheart. Looks like you’re the one with the shit taste in men.”

Natalia lunges for him and for a split second, he thinks she wants to actually throttle him, and she could fucking do it beautifully, he knows, but he catches the hot little glint in her eyes, so he seizes her just as she makes contact, pinning her against the table with his considerable bulk.

She wants it just as much as he does, because she rubs herself against him like a cat in heat and kisses him with more teeth than she ever has, raking her hands through his hair, turning it into a sloppy, dishevelled mess.

He knows if he slipped his fingers between her legs, she’d happily open for him and he’d find her all wet and slick and waiting for him.

It’s quick little thing, and he’d never have dreamed of being so hasty with her before, but then again, he’s never been so desperate for her before. He doesn’t even bother taking off her top or bra, just unbuttoning her jeans and rolling them down her legs, along with her underwear, until she kicks them off, her fingers already attacking his belt. She unzips his slacks, sliding a deft little hand inside his boxers, which she shamelessly wraps around his cock. He lurches into her grip with a punched-out groan, his hands sliding between her thighs and parting them so that he can settle inside the warm little nook that she makes for him.

His fingers slip inside her, easy and smooth, all the way to the knuckle, while she jerks him off with short, brutal strokes that have him moaning against her collarbone. Just to have a bit of revenge, he rubs the pads of his fingers against the patch of soft, pink flesh inside her that has her convulsing around him, tightening her legs around his hips.

“Are you going to fuck me, or just tease me, _Iron Man_?” she taunts, breathlessly.

Tony’s chest rumbles with a growl, and his teeth find that taut little tendon in her neck, biting down, as she keens, grappling for his shoulders with an unintelligible noise spilling out.

Tony finally loses his patience and bats her hand away from his cock, giving himself a lazy, upward stroke just to keep himself on that pain-rimed edge. He grips her soft thigh and pulls her in close, sinking inside her with a single thrust.

“Fuck!” she shouts.

Tony kisses her hard, almost violently, swallowing whatever sounds she makes (he can’t hear her, not right now). He slides a hand into her thick red hair and fists the strands between his fingers, pulling her head back, as he sets a punishing rhythm, fucking into her at a pace that has her jolting back and forth across the dining table, with every pull and drag of his cock.

He doesn’t give her a minute to think too hard.

Natalia’s hands clutch at the edge of the table, as a flush spreads across skin, stretching down from her high, defined cheekbones to the slope of her breasts. Her teeth grind together, her head slightly bowed, until she finally drops her head down onto his shoulder.

Tony watches her, one hand spanning the small of her back and holding her close like he always does – even in anger, even with her lies and his lies, he can’t forget that she’s still his world.

Something inside him deflates.

Her orgasm comes first and his shoulders bloom with pain when her nails dig in hard enough to break skin and draw blood, as Natalia clenches desperately and helplessly around his cock, whining his name into his neck. His orgasm soon follows, hitting him like a speeding truck coming out of nowhere, and his hips jerk aimlessly inside her, pulsing hot and wet with no grace whatsoever.

When that fierce hum finally recedes, his legs are jelly enough that all he can do is withdraw from her, their lower halves a complete mess, and drop down into the chair. Natalia follows him, sinking into his lap and curling her limbs around him like a limpet.

Tony rubs his hands up and down her back and she sighs, contented.

He takes a deep breath.

“You really love me?” he’s almost ashamed to ask again.

Natalia reaches for him with both hands, so willingly, easing her palms across his hair and face and shoulders and arms and chest, his skin rippling with goosebumps at the gentle touch.

“I love you, Antoshka. I love you. I love you. I love you,” she says, shyly.

Tony brushes strands of her bright auburn hair, damp with sweat, away from her face. “I love you too,” he murmurs against her milk-smooth cheek. “I didn’t think it was possible to love anyone so much.”

She kisses him on each eyelid first, gently, before pressing her mouth against his, all honey-sweet.

“We belong together,” she says, simply.

He agrees.

It still hurts; sex feels like a scar tissue over an open wound, but it eases something cracked open in his chest. It leaves him soft and hopeful, like there’s still something they can go from, build on, make stronger so that they’re never caught unaware or vulnerable like this again.

The skin behind her ear is soft and warm and clean, smelling like soap and bergamot.

He leans in.

“So, does this mean you never danced for the Bolshoi?” he wonders out loud.

Natalia huffs. “I _could’ve_ ,” she says, defensively.

Tony laughs into her hair and drags his mouth over to kiss her on the temple. “I believe you. I believe you.”

Natalia narrows her eyes. “You’re not fooling anyone,” she mutters.

* * *

Natasha strolls into Director Fury’s office, seamlessly, stopping just short of his desk and tucking her hands behind her back, the picture of professionalism.

Fury looks at her, carefully. “Yes, Agent Romanoff?”

“I have some news that may be of interest to you, sir,” she says, simply.

Fury raises an eyebrow and leans back in his chair. “Oh?”

“Iron Man.” Fury’s eyes glint with interest. “He has a handler now.”

“Who?” he demands, curiously.

“Me.”

Fury narrows his eyes, but his face doesn’t even register the surprise he must have felt. “And how exactly did that happen?”

Natasha shrugs, calmly. “I prefer making love with my husband, sir, not war.” 


End file.
